Of the fidelity and affection of the Prince’s domestics we heard a great deal, and nothing can exceed the respect in which his memory is held by the villagers. On more than one occasion we saw the honest tear start from their eyes at the mention of his name, and the solicitude they expressed for his welfare and their many tender inquiries respecting his present situation in England, convinced us these poor people were sensible they had lost their best friend. When I told them the Prince de Condé[1] lived near London, and was in fairly easy circumstances and kindly received by the King and Royal Family and by the Ministers of State, they were so greatly affected as to excite in our minds a sympathetic emotion of soul, and on the ruins of the Château of Chantilly, on the very spot where once stood the statue of the Great Condé, we shed tears over the fate of his forsaken and proscribed descendant. No one can be sensible of the desolation of Chantilly unless they saw the gardens, _jets d’eau_ and variegated plantations there previous to 1792. The Palace is now completely destroyed, there is not even a vestige remaining, all is ruin. As we approached its sight several troops of cavalry were exercising on the lawn. The stables, upon the left, have escaped the fury of the Revolutionists. It is a magnificent building, with all the appearance of a Palace itself. It was originally built for 240 horses. But 400 animals belonging to the Chasseurs stationed at Chantilly are now quartered there without inconvenience. It is an immense oblong, well paved, with mangers and racks on either side. In the centre is a spacious dome with several apartments now occupied by the smiths of the regiment. All the stags’ heads which ornamented the interior of the building have been struck off, only stumps being left behind. There was formerly a pretty emblematical figure over the reservoir of water under the dome, this has been completely annihilated. [Sidenote: JOURNEY TO CHANTILLY] To the left of the stables is the _ménage_, an open circular piece of ground, encircled by Doric pillars. Here we found the subaltern officers of the regiment instructing their men in the art of riding. The French soldiers, in general, keep their seats well, but their position does not appear so easy as that of the English. They ridicule our long trot as ungraceful, perhaps with some reason; but horses and riders using it are better able to support a long journey than a Frenchman, erect as a post, jogging on a dancing horse.